


Preggerswagger

by mcal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 21:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16920831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcal/pseuds/mcal
Summary: Hermione and Draco would like a kid. Hermione does not want slow down for pregnancy. Her husband, Draco Malfoy, steps up...





	Preggerswagger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hystaracal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hystaracal/gifts).



> This was written in a day, and for the pure fun of it. A friend made the joke "Can you image Draco pregnant?" and my mind ran off from there...

“Did it rain while I was napping, Hermione?”

  
Brown eyebrows quirk. “No...”

  
“I can smell rain.” A pointed nose scrunches, disgusted. “And the Quidditch pitch. Does the grass always smell so _grassy_?”

A long, pacifying inhale. “I can’t smell anything, love. Are you alright—it’s not like you to nap.”

 

“Felt like a kip today.” He shrugs. “I swear it rained.”

 

“It didn’t.”

 

“ _Well, then it’s going to!_ ”

 

“The weather report said no—”

 

“ _Hang the bloody weather report!_ ”

 

A pause. Three blinks. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright, Draco?”

 

“I’m _fine_! I swear I keep smelling grass and rain!”

 

Sharp inhale. “D’you think we need a pregnancy test?”

 

“What?”

 

“A Muggle way to see if you’re pregnant or not.”

 

Pale blond lashes flutter rapidly. “Why can’t we just perform a charm?”

 

She shakes her head. “The Healer said it won’t work because you’re not female.”

 

Indistinct muttering…

 

She chews on her lip...then... “Draco?”

 

“How does it work?” Pointed nose scrunches again.

 

“It’s quite simple: you just have to pee on the stick.”

 

“ _Pardon?!?”_

 

A long sigh. “I’ll pop out and purchase a box, love. We’ll read the instructions together.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re holding it too close; I’m going to hit your hand.”

 

“You won’t. I have every confidence in your ability to aim from this distance.”

 

Alabaster brows pull together. “Okaaaayyyyy…”

 

“AHHH!!! GROSS DRACO!”

 

_PLUNK!_

 

_SLAM!_

 

“Hermione! Where are you going?”

 

Silence. He straightens out his boxers.

 

_“Hermione?”_

 

More silence.

 

A clipped huff. “I _told_ you I would hit your hand!” He’s yelling now, gesticulating over a porcelain toilet bowl. “This is _not_ my fault. And now the bloody test won’t work because you dropped it in the toilet. And you had me all nervous about drowning it and my aim was all off, and I didn’t _mean_ to hit your hand.” What is this foreign fluid stinging his eyes? _Tears???_ “And...and _now_...now you’ve just run out. And the bloody test is broken and I don’t know where you left the buggering box!”

 

The fluid pools and overflows. Tracking down, _down,_ _dooowwwwnnnn…_

 

And he’s kneeling by the toilet now. “It’s not my bloody fault. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit your hand. It seems ridiculous that we even take this sodding test now. Please come back to the room, love. _Please…”_

 

“What are you doing, Draco?”

 

He blinks over at the now-open door, where she’s standing under the white painted frame. “It appears that I’m having an emotional breakdown over a Muggle pregnancy test.”

 

She snorts, shaking her head and walks up to him. “Sorry I ran out. The door slammed behind me on it’s own, I swear.”

 

He sniffs, giving an acknowledging nod. “You left me in here alone.”

 

“I’m so -”

 

“ _Don’t_ apologize.” He gives an extended sniff and swipes at his eyes. His nose. He glares at her.

 

Her head tilts. “What exactly do you—”

 

“ _Don’t_ run out again. I know it was gross, but you’re a potioneer for Salazar’s sake. And this is one of those big life moments.” He shifts and stands, misting silver and sapphire flecked eyes never leaving her face. “Don’t run out again.”

 

“I won’t.” Her lips bend sweetly and she’s beaming at him. “Just got a little overwhelmed is all, and the water in this sink doesn’t get hot enough for proper sanitising.”

 

He snorts. “It _does_ , but how do you suggest we do it this time? My aim is apparently rubbish at the moment.”

 

She conjures a cup, holding it out to him. “Aim here. I’ll dip the stick in when you’re done. We’ll wait the allotted three minutes together.”

 

He takes the cup, lips pressed into a thin line. “Alright.”

 

_Three Minutes Later…_

 

“Holy sh—”

 

“Wow…”

 

They blink at each other with gobsmacked expressions.

 

She jumps as a crack of thunder echoes in the bathroom. Followed by another long storming grumble, and the sound of water pouring in sheets over the roof.

 

The witch throws her arms around him. “I’ll never doubt your manstincts again.”

 

* * *

 

“Draco, you have to eat.”

 

“Bugger off.” He flips her off and rolls away from her, snuggling his face into the plush pillow.

 

“C’mon, love. You’ve got to eat something.”

 

It’s muffled, and she leans forward, but he appears to answer with something whinging like, “Don’t want to.”

 

“It’s a simple cheese sandwich.”

 

He moans from the pillow.

  
“You haven’t vomited that up yet, love. You’ve been eating them all week.”

 

“Ugh, but I _might_ today.”

 

“Draco, _please_?”

 

“NO!” He covers his head with the blanket.

 

The witch sighs, but takes a supportive stance on the other side of the sofa and begins to rub his socked feet as she reads from a levitating book.

 

The sandwich remains untouched all night.

 

* * *

 

 “It’s trying to kill me.”

 

She doesn’t glance up from her book. “It’s not.”

 

His jaw tightens. “It. IS!” He flops down on the bed. “I can’t keep track of _anything_ safe to eat, Hermione. A string of days I’m safe with grapes and cheese sandwiches; the next, I’m heaving my guts out in the toilet over a cheese sandwich and grapes. I’ve lost three bloody kilograms already!”

 

She closes the book, laying it in her lap. “I know, love.”

 

“Everything _smells_ so bloody awful _all the sodding time_ …”

 

“Mhm…”

 

He sighs and groans. Then sits up and cards a hand through his trimmed light locks. “What’s it the idiot Healer called this?”

 

“Morning sickness.”

 

“Well, that’s bollocks.” He sniffs, standing and waving a hand airily about. “What does _he_ know? He’s never experienced this before. I’m vomiting all hours of the day, this is clearly not confined to the morning.”

 

“Do you want to try the nausea potion?”

 

“NO!” His eyes flash and his hand moves to make protective circle circles over his abdomen, bunching the fabric as he does. “We agreed to try no potions as long as I can.”

 

She walks over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “You’ll get through this, love. _We_ will make it through this part. The book says it shouldn’t be too much longer.”

 

“Sod the book.” He binds his arms around her in an answering embrace. “It’s never met me.”

 

They giggle and share a kiss, which turns into snogging. So, they rid themselves of offending garments and climb into bed, intent on pleasing each other, Hermione especially seeking to please.

 

They drift off to sleep sharing contented sighs.   

 

* * *

 

 A horrified yell shakes the walls of Malfoy Cottage in Devon. The witch Apparates directly to the master bathroom.

 

“Draco!?!”

 

The wizard in question turns, pointing to his nose. “What. Is. THIS??”

 

She hurries over, studying his face. “Appears to be blood.”

 

“Obviously.” Starlight in his silver eyes flash. “But why is it dripping from my _nose_?”

 

“It’s one of the side effects we read about in the beginning.” She speaks as if he should have remembered this vague bit of trivia read aloud in the throes of nausea and drooping eyelids. “The blood vessels in your nose are expanding and the increased blood supply in your body puts pressure on them. They’re too delicate and have clearly erupted.”

 

He blinked in silence as she dabbed a handkerchief under his nose. When she pulls the cloth back and begins threading delicate fingers through his pale cropped locks, his nostrils flare. “Nothing about me is _delicate_ , and you know it.”

 

She giggles and nuzzles her nose to his.

 

* * *

 

 “What do you MEAN, ‘They were _out_?’”

 

“Just what I said, Draco.”

 

His hands migrate from his hips to a now prominent baby-bump, eyes narrowing. “But did you tell those lazy rats that _Draco Malfoy_ was the one asking for it?”

 

“I did.” The witch sheds her coat, shaking a mane of curls.  

 

“But... _but..._ I need my special truffles from Prestat! The ones that were special ordered for our wedding. The baby NEEDS that glorious bite of heaven!”

 

She merely shrugs and pulls a brown looking jar with a white label. “I bought something else for you to try. My friend’s mum put it on our toast at breakfast when I’d sleepover. I remember liking it…”

 

He arcs a narrow brow. “You _remember liking it_?”

 

“Well, they moved to somewhere in Wales when I was six, and Mum and Dad would never have purchased something like _this_ at the Tesco.”

 

“‘Nutella.” He glares at the offending jar. “Let’s see if you live up to my wife’s memory...OH MY GODS—Hermione!” He yanks her hand, bringing it to the baby bump.

 

“Draco, wh—”

 

“ _Shhhhhh!_ Just...wait. Wait just a moment.” He’s smiling, the corners of his lips touching each ear.

 

…..

 

“I don’t thi—MERLIN!”

  
He’s beaming and she meets his heavy look. “That was…”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I can’t…” She swallows thick.

 

He tucks a curl behind her ear, traces her jawline down to her chin, and pillows her lips with his. “I think baby Malfoy is willing to give this hazelnut spread a chance.”

 

She beams right back at him.

 

* * *

 

 “Draco Lucius Malfoy!” She stumbles through the fireplace, glaring at him.

 

He continues his stomp to the library door.

 

“Don’t you leave the room in a huff.”

 

The door slams shut as soon as he crosses the threshold.

 

She sprints, throwing the door open. “I can’t possibly know what I said or did if you don’t _tell_ me!”

 

He stops. “You’re a witch. Read my bloody mind!”

 

She splutters. He folds his arms and storms off again.

 

“NO!” She runs after him. “That’s not how we do things, I don’t care how hormonal you are—we’re NOT going to be lazy about this.” She catches him by the arm. “What in the name of Merlin happened? I thought we were having a lovely time with your mother.”

 

A stiff nod. “We were.”

 

She strokes his arm. “What changed that then?”

 

His lips pucker into a pout. “Fine.” He turns, snatching up her hand. “Come here…”

 

She keeps in step with him until he pulls her into a room and stops.

 

“ _Lumos._ ”

  
She doesn’t speak at first. “I don’t understand.”

 

“We’re in the nursery.”

 

“Yes, I can see that.”

 

“You told my mother it’s ready.”

 

Her eyes circle the room, before arriving back at him. “It _is_.”

 

He scoffs. “And  _that_ is the problem!”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“How can you _not_?”

 

She sucks a slow breath in, releasing it just as slow. “I’m desperately trying to, love, I _really_ am. But I need more information.”

 

“I don’t see how you _don’t_!” He marches around the room, waving and pointing. “It isn’t even close to being ready! There’s only a single crib, a rocker, two vanities for clothing, a changing table stocked with nappies. We still need to get the bassinet for him to sleep in when we come home from the hospital. There’s the alternate crib mattress for us to switch out every other week, so they don’t wear out too quickly for him...We still need to set up the toy Quidditch pitch, and _why are you smiling like a niffler at Gringotts right now_?!? Are you not stressed?”

 

“You said ‘he’.”

 

He stops. And pads back to her, lips drawn. “You’re not upset, are you? Salazar, please don’t be upset. I know you wanted to be surprised, but I _needed_ to know. I needed to plan and get everything ready, and—”

 

She silences his lips with hers. “We still have time, heaps of it, in fact.” She kisses him again. “But, if it makes you feel better, we’ll finish everything this week.”

 

He snorts. “Tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

 “But I like Scorpius!”

 

“And I like Leo.”

 

“We’re not naming our baby after a lion.”

 

“You prefer to name him after a predatory arachnid!”

 

“ _Anything_ to a lion.”

  
“You’re an impossible prat, you know that?”

 

“And _you’re_ not the one waking up at all hours of the night with the insufferable little menace kicking on _your_ bladder.”

 

She chews on her lips. “What about Perseus?”

 

He makes a revolted looking face.

 

She shakes her head. “Phoenix?”

 

He hums. “Phoenix Granger Malfoy. That’s not half bad.”

 

* * *

 

“Hermione.”

 

A soft snore.

 

“ _Hermione._ ”

 

“OW!” Her eyes fly open. “What’s happening? Is the baby alright?”

  
“I can’t sleep.”

 

She groans. “Not again, Draco.”

 

“ _Pllleeaaassseeeeee.”_

 

“No.” She huffs and rolls over. “This is why we lengthened three pillows for you. One for you to hug, one to fit under your legs, and the last one for your back.”

 

A silent heartbeat.

 

“But you feel so much more comfortable than the pillow, love.”

 

A lengthy pause.

 

She sighs, shuffling up to him. “I swear-to-Merlin that’s the worst line ever.”

 

“And yet, you let me get away with it every time.” He gives a contented sigh as she molds her breasts and legs to his back and bum.

 

* * *

 

 “Does this shirt make me look fat?”

 

She blinks. Again. And _again_. “I feel like there’s a trick to that question.”

 

“No tricks.” He lifts his hands, palm up. “I’m having lunch with Theo and want your honest opinion.”

 

“That shirt looks fine for lunch with Theo.”

 

“So you’re saying it _wouldn’t_ do for lunch with someone else?”

 

“I meant exactly what I said— _where_ are you going?”

 

“To change.”

 

“But...Draco...WHY?!”

 

“Because!”

 

“I said it looks fine.”

 

“It’s in all you _didn’t_ say!”

 

* * *

 

“Merlin, I’m going to kill Harry.”

 

“I suggest you not attempt that, love.” He tosses her a glance over his shoulder. “Didn’t work out to well for Voldemort.”

 

She growls. “Then I’ll hex his balls off.”

 

He gasps, turning with a flourish. Hands firm on his hips. “Praytell, wife, what could Potter have done to offend you so?”

 

She gestures wildly, then points to directly to his core. “That shirt!”

 

“You’re not serious.”

 

“Draco, it says ‘BUN IN THE OVEN’.”

 

“It’s meant to be funny.”

 

“I’m not debating the humour in the words. But every time you wear it, you get that Godric-awful preggerswagger.”

 

“Pregger- _what_?”

 

She huffs and waddles, “You march around like some duke or prince when you wear that t-shirt, looking down your nose at everyone and everything all day long!”

 

“I think I’m entitled to a little self pampering.”

 

“It’s a lumbering pregnant swagger, and you’re doing it for attention!”

 

He blinks, face neutral. “Why shouldn’t I?”

 

“What?”

 

“Are you lugging around all this extra weight on your frontside?”

 

A sigh. “No…”

 

“Are your ribs constantly getting bruised from your child kicking you?”

 

“They’re not.”

 

“Do YOU have constant back pain?”

 

“Wait a moment.” She holds up a hand. “YOU are not hurting; you started a mild pain potion last week.”

“I am NO—“

“I saw the vial on your nightstand before you hid it, Draco.”

 

His lips curl into a snarl. He sweeps back around, preggerswaggering to the kitchen, calling out over his shoulder. “It’s all natural and organic _and_ Healer approved!”

 

* * *

 

“Morning, Draco.”

 

Silence.

 

“Draco?”

 

A grunt.

She frowns. “You alright?”

 

“I think (huff) I might be (huffffff) in labour.”

 

“WHAT!” She shoots upright in bed. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

 

“Wasn’t sure before.”

 

“How long has this been going on?”

 

“Few hours. Thought it was the worst stomach (hufffff, OW!!) of my life.”

 

“We need to get to St. Mungo’s now! I’ll grab the to-go bag and ring your mother once we’re there, and why are you just laying there, Draco? We have to go! NOW!”

 

“Love,” he smirks. And huffs. “Much as I love (huffff) your lace-clad arse winking (hufff!) at me from under that (OOOOOHHHHH, OW!) sleep shirt—”

 

“Oh, shut it, you!” She snatches open the closet door. “You better be ready in sixty seconds or I will leave you here to fend for yourself.”

 

* * *

 

“I need you to push, Mr. Malfoy.”

 

“I AM PUSHING (HUUFFFFFF), YOU BLOODY MENACE!”

 

“She knows you’re pushing, Draco, but you need to try a little harder.”

 

“I’M PUSHING AS BLOODY (PANT!)  BUGGERING (HUFF!) HARD AS I CAN!”

 

“I’m sure you are, love, but—”

 

“I’M EXHAUSTED! (SIIIIGHHHHH) WE’VE BEEN HERE FOR (HUFF!) FOURTEEN BLOODY HOURS—”

 

A kiss to his sweat beaded forehead. “I know, love. I’m tired, too.”

 

“(HUFFFFFF) YOU CAN’T NEARLY BE AS TIRED AS I AM!”

 

“Shhh, shhhhhhh. I’m not. No one could be as tired as you, Draco.”

 

“YOU BET OUR BABY’S BOLLOCKS THEY’RE (COUGH, PANT!) NOT!”

 

“I couldn’t come close to being as drained as you. I thought he’d be here by now, too.”

 

A low, animalistic groan. “You’re trying to sound empathetic (HUUUUFFFF!). You’re trying to appeal (quick huff) to my sense of logic.”

 

“...Guilty….”

 

A huff and scathing look from deep grey and blue speckled eyes. “You’d make a terrible Slytherin (hufffffff).”

 

She squeezes his hand. “You’re entitled to your opinion. C’mon, then.” 

* * *

He’s crying and beaming.

 

She’s crying and laughing. And attempting soothing cooes.

  
Phoenix Granger Malfoy is crying, refusing to be soothed.

 

The Healer eyes the three of them wearily, gaze finally landing on the witch. “Convinced her husband to have the baby for her?” She scoffed. “That witch is the most Slytherin I’ve ever seen.”

 

**_Finis._ **

 

 


End file.
